Went to Trudy's room. She's receding into a kind of womblike state. Comma, cough, coma. I read in Pedro the Vast, he types in a search for comas and it gives him commas. Deep slumber. Nowhere to think. Catatonic. Would we dream if we couldn't think? The mind loose swims in space. Respite before eternity. No word for this place. There is no diagnosis. Tag. You're it.